


Take A Chance On Me

by paintingraves (kallistob)



Series: Take A Chance On Me [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Destiny, Dramatic Jaskier | Dandelion, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier/Eskel is endgame!, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Professor Jaskier | Dandelion, Romance, Soft Epilogue, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Tension, Time Skips, Timeline What Timeline, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 10:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23969569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/paintingraves
Summary: Jaskier had always thought Geralt of Rivia was his destiny. After all, what were the chances that the Witcher would say the exact same words as his true soulmate when they first met?
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Take A Chance On Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750861
Comments: 158
Kudos: 794
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier had always assumed his soulmate was the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia. How could he not, when the first words Geralt ever said to him were a perfect match to the sentence written out on his forearm in a tiny, near illegible scrawl?

 _I’m here to drink alone._ That’s what Geralt had said as he looked away. 

And Jaskier, who hadn't been expecting anything, suddenly felt like the ground burst open under his feet. His heart rate tripled. He was flushed and suffered a dangerous mix of elation and bone-deep dread at the same time. He’d sat down at Geralt's table, unable to believe it: he was only twenty summers old, how could he be so lucky as to meet his soulmate so soon? 

He opened his mouth to say something, _anything_. His mind was blank, still reeling with this amazing discovery. And then Geralt grunted, stood up and started walking away - turning his back on Jaskier. Turning his back on his _soulmate_. 

Jaskier, the fool that he was, giddy with excitement and all sorts of romantic thoughts whirling around in his head, had thought the Witcher was just embarrassed. Perhaps he was shy _._ He had believed Geralt knew they were soulmates, had also identified him as such but wanted this very important conversation to take place somewhere more private than in a crowded inn. 

Which… apparently meant the middle of the road, as Geralt left to deal with his new contract without a backwards glance. There was a supposed devil stealing all the peasants' grain. Rude! After all, Jaskier was his soulmate and he was right _there!_ Surely a monster could wait until they’d talked about this, right? Jaskier chased after him, undeterred by Geralt’s grunting and his repeated rebuttals. But the Witcher, to make his point clear, had punched him in the stomach and stolen all the air from Jaskier’s lungs. And broken his heart, just a little. Why didn't Geralt want him? Was he such a disappointment? 

Rude, Jaskier thought, wheezing and clutching his middle while Geralt kept walking, leading his horse by the reins. “Geralt, wait!” He’d said, scrambling to get up once more as he ran after the other man. “Hang on, you can’t just _leave_ me here!” 

“Fuck off, bard,” Geralt grumbled in annoyance. 

“Not a chance!” Jaskier protested. “After all, you’re my... “ He stopped, a bad feeling suddenly simmering in his gut. “You’re… my…” Why was he hesitating all of a sudden? Geralt was his soulmate! Right? Why did he struggle with getting the words out? “... my Muse,” he finished weakly, and rolled with it. “That’s right! You are my new Muse, and I won’t - I shan't - let you go! The whole continent shall hear the epic tales of Geralt of Rivia, the - the White Wolf!... or something.” 

Geralt snorted at his antics, but he stopped making his distaste at Jaskier’s presence so explicitly clear, which Jaskier definitely counted as a victory. Progress! They could make this work after all! There was a skip in his step as he followed Geralt to hunt the rumors of the devil stealing the townsfolk’ harvest in Posada, and he resolved to force Geralt to confront the huge elephant in the room later. 

\---

They didn’t talk about it right away. 

Jaskier kept meaning to, but first they’d dealt with the devil (who turned out to be a sylvain), a group of starving, angry elves and barely escaped with their lives. Then Jaskier, high on adrenaline, had felt inspired enough by the whole ordeal to compose a song about Geralt he just _knew_ was going to be a hit. He kept singing and working on it until Geralt stopped to make camp (the man may have complained that Jaskier’s singing made his ears bleed, but don’t think Jaskier hadn’t seen that little, almost unnoticeable smile tugging at the corners of his lips). Geralt had divested himself of the first layers of his armor and his swords while Jaskier sat on a log and just stared at him, unable to hide how smitten he already was with his Witcher. He was handsome, and so strong, and caring… Jaskier felt like a poor schoolgirl with a first crush when he was a grown man and no stranger to the intricacies and delights of love. Geralt had rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, muttering something about the heat under his breath. Roach nickered. He grabbed something in one of his saddlebags and came back to Jaskier. 

“Do you have anything besides that lute on your back?” He asked. Jaskier said no quite cheerfully. Geralt rolled his eyes, reluctantly handed him a waterskin and told him to eat and drink. He sat on another log next to Jaskier, put the wooden box he had taken in his bag on his lap and opened it. It was full of dried strips of jerky. He handed one to Jaskier, and only then noticed how pale Jaskier had become. 

“Everything alright?” Geralt asked, frowning. Did Jaskier catch a sunstroke? Instead of replying, the bard grabbed Geralt’s left wrist and tugged the man’s arm towards him. He inspected the pale skin, turning his forearm over this way and that until Geralt got over his bewilderment and snatched it back. 

“You… don’t have a soulmark,” Jaskier then said quietly. He sounded terribly sad, at odds with the cheerful, loud, _annoying_ young man who had walked with Geralt all day. Geralt frowned and ignored the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach - it was probably just the jerky. 

“No I don’t.” He didn’t like how gutted Jaskier looked at the news. Geralt briskly tugged his arm sleeve down again, feeling suddenly self-conscious and defensive. “Never had one. Probably for the best. I need no one, and the last thing I want is someone needing me,” he said, probably more severely than intended. Jaskier had his mouth open and seemed about to argue, but at those last words he snapped it shut. He seemed miserable. Geralt had no fucking idea why! It wasn’t a big deal not to have a soulmate, many people didn’t _,_ but Jaskier looked heartbroken for him all the same. “Do you want some beef jerky or not,” he asked to change the subject, his patience running thin as he waved the strip of dried meat in the air. 

Jaskier took it and thanked him quietly. They ate in silence. When he was done, Jaskier seemed to have regained some of his gaiety, their previous conversation forgotten. Perhaps he'd just been hungry, Geralt thought as Jaskier took a deep breath and started babbling once more, going from one subject to the next at the drop of a hat. Geralt winced at the loudness of it. The human was exhausting _._ As a Witcher he wasn’t supposed to suffer from headaches yet he could feel the beginnings of one all the same as Jaskier talked and talked and _talked_ , filling the silence with utter nonsense. Geralt sighed and decided he might as well do something useful. He tuned Jaskier out, went to his pack and retrieved the oil and sharpening stones for his swords. He set to work while Jaskier hummed and talked about his life and asked him a series of questions to which Geralt would reply with grunts and noncommittal hmms. After sunset, Jaskier finally seemed to tire himself out. He yawned more frequently and looked at Geralt between half-lidded eyes, looking like a sleepy kitten. “Geralt.” 

“Hmm.” 

“I haven't a bedroll.” 

Geralt sighed and prayed the gods for patience. “Use mine,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“But what about you?” 

“I don’t need to sleep as much as you. I can meditate and feel rested.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Geralt barked. Jaskier scrambled to get the bedroll before he changed his mind. He unrolled it, lied down, turned onto his side and peered at Geralt. He was hugging his lute close to his chest like a child would a stuffed animal. Geralt tried not to find it endearing and failed. 

“Geralt?” 

_“What.”_

Jaskier smiled. “I’m glad I met you.”

Geralt, unsettled, didn’t reply, and after a moment Jaskier’s breathing deepened as he fell asleep. What an odd man, Geralt decided. Who in their right mind would willingly choose to accompany a Witcher on the Path? Jaskier must be desperate or dumb. But whatever he was, he was here now and he had demonstrated that he was hard to get rid of. There was nothing Geralt could do but accept the bard’s presence until Jaskier grew tired of him and left, which would happen sooner rather than later. All humans who'd taken a liking to him did in the end. He was too much. 

Geralt sharpened his sword until it could have cut cleanly through the tiniest strip of paper, and then he crossed his legs and started meditating. The night went by quickly. A couple hours after dawn, Geralt started packing their things again. He brushed Roach’s coat with care, murmuring lowly to her; Jaskier was still sleeping, his lute discarded somewhere beside him, his mouth half-open and snoring. A bit of stubble covered his jaw. Geralt let him sleep until Roach was ready and all saddled up, and he woke Jaskier for breakfast by nudging him with his foot. 

“N’what?” Jaskier said blearily. "Five more minutes…" He rubbed his eyes, his hair mussed in all directions like a raven’s nest. 

“Breakfast,” Geralt said. “Eat quickly because I’m leaving.” 

Jaskier got ready in record time, and they took the road again. It seemed Geralt had, quite unexpectedly, acquired a… travel companion. 

Weird, but… Hmm. Not entirely unwelcome, he could at least admit that to himself. 

\----

Jaskier’s soulmate was Geralt, but Geralt didn’t have a soulmate. That was fine. Perfectly fine. Just… peachy! 

Jaskier could still be friends with him and… pine for the man from afar? _Ugh, what a shitty life_. No. There were plenty of people who fell in love and got married with someone who wasn't even their soulmate! Some prefered to live life to the fullest instead of waiting for their supposed perfect match who might never come. 

Jaskier didn’t believe the codswallop about Witchers having no emotions: being in Geralt’s presence for about two minutes had confirmed that it was nothing but a load of crap. He was optimistic, hopeful, and enamored enough to believe he might win Geralt’s favor solely with his charm. Geralt’s lack of soulmark didn’t have to mean anything: he could _still_ fall in love with Jaskier and vice-versa. Jaskier could and would win him over -- no matter how prickly and closed off Geralt was -- and they would go to the coast, settle down in a lovely cottage and live happily ever after. Or something along those lines. He truly believed he had a chance. 

He kept flirting with Geralt rather obviously (after all, he was only twenty and subtlety was not yet his forte) but his words and innuendos seemed to fly straight over Geralt’s head. Anyone else would have let it go. Jaskier didn't. It was both his greatest quality, and his greatest flaw. 

He started trying to take care of Geralt, following the courting étiquette of the nobility he was born into which rambled on that being able to provide for your beloved was the height of romance. Jaskier would play in inns his repertoire of songs; his newest composition, _Toss a Coin to your Witcher_ , earned him great applause and a lot of money, much to his delight and Geralt’s despair. With that money he bought food and drinks for Geralt, regular baths and a separate room if he had enough coin, knowing his Witcher liked the quiet. He always protested when Geralt returned the favor. 

He learned that Geralt didn’t know when his birthday was, and so decided on the spot that his birthday was _today_ then proceeded to drag the man over by the hand to a jewelry shop, where he told him to pick whatever he wanted. Geralt said he wanted nothing, but his eyes lingered on a very simple, wide and finely made silver bracelet. Jaskier bought it. He thought he could see Geralt blush. The bracelet never left Geralt's wrist, and after three months of longing looks and affectionate touches Jaskier believed he was really this close to winning over Geralt of Rivia when everything came to a brutal halt. 

Geralt came back from a hunt reeking of blood and shit. He was soaked to the bone, his clothes drenched in horrid bodily fluids, his face muddy and thunderous. His once white hair was a tragedy _._

Jaskier, who had been waiting for him in their room, gagged at the sight and smell. The bath he had taken earlier in the evening was still lukewarm and he immediately urged Geralt to get in before Jaskier fainted. Geralt, amused but obviously just as eager to get clean, obeyed and stripped off his armor and clothes. He warmed up the bath again with a quick Igni sign. He sunk into it with a pleased groan, and Jaskier flushed at how unintentionally erotic he sounded. 

Geralt dunk his head beneath the water. When he resurfaced, Jaskier offered to wash his hair, citing his great ‘entrail-removal’ skills. He also said Geralt’s hair looked grey whenever he himself washed it, which proved that the Witcher had no idea how to care for it compared to how soft Jaskier's locks always were. For once, Geralt didn't need that much convincing to let Jaskier have his way: he seemed tired from the hunt, and not in the mood to deal with Jaskier’s eloquence. Jaskier was skilled at arguing until the other side had no choice but to cave in and admit he was right, something he'd used with Geralt everytime he suggested something for the man's own comfort and well-being. He'd had to argue so that Geralt would let him buy him food when he was low on coin, argue to share a room when Geralt was fully prepared to sleep in the stables with the horses, and argue to let him have a look at Geralt's wounds and patch him up when Geralt wanted to just… sleep it off. Stitches, Geralt, stitches! Gods, why was he so difficult? 

But that night, Geralt interrupted Jaskier’s nervous monologue with a gruff ‘oil’s in my pack’ which made Jaskier jump and prompted him into action. 

He grabbed a stool and sat next to the bathtub, Geralt’s back turned towards him. He raised trembling hands to Geralt’s hair while his heartbeat roared in his ears. Geralt could probably hear it but politely chose to ignore it. Fuck. He was touching Geralt, and he was about to wash his hair. The man was _letting_ him. This was significantly more intimate and important than sewing up a wound. Jaskier had to remind himself to breathe. 

He massaged and washed Geralt’s hair with gentle but firm hands. He untangled the long strands while Geralt positively melted in the bath under his ministrations. The Witcher hummed pleasantly when Jaskier scratched his scalp, instinctively moving his head this way and that so Jaskier could get all the good spots. 

Jaskier was so warm. The heat of the water, the scents of bath oils, the sight of Geralt's broad back - it was all getting to his head. Every part of his being was entirely focused on his soulmate. His five senses were under assault, his brain intoxicated, drunk on Geralt’s presence. He could see Geralt's long, soft wet hair, glimpse the nape of his neck and his chest hair, admire his muscled shoulders, his _spine_ , and discover the myriad of impressive scars marring his skin. Jaskier wanted to trace them all with his tongue. Pearls of water rolled down Geralt’s back. The candlelight in the room gave his skin a creamy, healthy glow. The room was silent save for the gentle lap of water as Geralt shifted in the bath. Almond soap, chamomile oil and bath salts... Jaskier felt dizzy. He wanted desperately to nose at the junction of Geralt’s neck and shoulder to see what the man smelled like underneath it all, to soak in his natural scent. Bite his skin to see if it was as soft as it looked. Kiss him. Touch him. Give him pleasure. Jaskier wanted him so much. 

He could touch him, was touching him. His hands were gliding over Geralt’s back, offering him a free massage even after he was long done with Geralt’s hair. He was so warm... 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said huskily. Jaskier breathed out, fingers digging in a spot at the base of Geralt's spine. _"Ah -"_

 _“_ Yeah?" Jaskier's tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. He was terribly, shamefully aroused. 

“... My neck is very sensitive,” Geralt offered. 

“Is that so?" 

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier’s hand hovered over Geralt’s neck. “I’ll just. Then.” Oh lords. He couldn't believe this was happening. Geralt liked him? 

“Please…” Geralt gathered all his hair up in one hand and pulled it to the side to expose the nape of his neck. “Jaskier. Kiss me. Touch me. You're driving me mad _.”_

“Oh, gods -- Geralt, I ---” 

And then… he saw it. A tiny, inconspicuous, barely noticeable tattoo inked in the delicate skin of Geralt’s neck where skin met fine hair. Not words, not like him, but a lilac branch. Impossible to ignore now that Jaskier had seen it. He let out a strangled noise of shock and abruptly recoiled from Geralt, who turned around in the bath, sending water sloshing over the edges of the rim. “Jaskier?” 

Geralt had a soulmark! He had a _soulmate._ Someone who wasn’t Jaskier. 

He started to cry, weeks of tension and deceived expectations pouring out of him in ugly sobs that turned into wails as he prostrated himself on the floor. Geralt watched him helplessly, his face a mask of horror and incomprehension. He had one foot out of the bath and a towel half-covering his nakedness. He looked ridiculous and utterly out of his depth as Jaskier broke down for reasons he couldn’t understand. 

Geralt had a _soulmate_. He told Jaskier once that he'd always kept his hair long, even before he had become a Witcher. The tattoo was so well-hidden, in such an unreachable place, that he could _never_ have seen it on his own unless he really looked for it with two mirrors. He couldn’t have known. He had _never_ known. Geralt had lived years of his life believing he was destined to be alone when he wasn’t! There was someone out there for him, someone with a tiny matching tattoo in the same place that represented Geralt - _someone_ who probably had no idea Geralt was their Destiny either. No one had ever seen Geralt’s tattoo and told him it existed, because no one had gotten close enough before to notice it. Jaskier was the first. 

Geralt did have a soulmate… Jaskier’s soulmate was Geralt -- but Geralt wasn’t his. And that was cruel. That twist of fate was unfair. It was worse than anything Jaskier had ever feared. Better to think that Geralt had no soulmark, because Jaskier still had a chance. But now? Even if they were to resume what they had just started and tumble into a real relationship, Jaskier could never trust Geralt _not_ to run off and leave him behind the second he met his actual soulmate. And he would _,_ even if he promised the opposite fervently. The pull was too strong. What kind of relationship would that be if Jaskier was constantly jealous, saw every person Geralt met or talked to as a potential threat? 

No, Jaskier was alone. He wasn’t good enough and he had _never_ been good enough. He had put time and effort into a one-sided fictitious relationship that was doomed from the start! Believing foolishly that he had a chance even when Geralt rejected him at first. He had thought he could make it work, but Destiny had other plans and it had just shat in Jaskier’s face. 

“Jaskier, please talk to me,” Geralt said urgently, reaching him through his negative downwards spiral. Jaskier tried to focus on his voice through the veil of tears that clouded his vision _._ “Jaskier! Breathe ! What's wrong?” 

“Y - y - you…” 

“What? What the fuck is going on?” 

“Y - you have a s - soulmark,” Jaskier choked out. “You have a soulmark,” he repeated, trying and failing to stifle his sobs. “A lilac branch,” he added bitterly. “At the back of your neck.” 

Geralt was struck speechless. Jaskier looked at him, and hated, hated the fleeting glimmer of hope and happiness he could see flashing in Geralt’s eyes. “...I do… ?” 

“... Yeah, you do. Congratulations.” 

Geralt’s hand went to his own neck, and he stroked the skin there with a finger. Then he stilled, looking at Jaskier with - determination? “This - doesn’t have to change anything,” he said haltingly. “I - I - I…” He struggled, and Jaskier waited with bated breath. “I like you, Jaskier. Fuck, but I do." 

And Jaskier wanted to believe him, he really did. If Geralt had told him this a week ago, he'd have been the happiest man in the world. But the timing was wrong. “No. It changes everything. From the moment I met you I thought you were mine and I yours, but I was wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Your words on my skin,” Jaskier said softly. “The first words you ever said to me back in Posada. _I’m here to drink alone._ You are my soulmate, Geralt, that’s why I can't let you go. And then I saw your arm, and you didn’t have my mark, and you said you’d never had a soulmark at all, and I thought…” He took a deep breath. “I thought you could still learn to love me. I thought we could build something good together like hundreds of other people who don't have a soulmate and are happily married. But it was in vain. You have someone out there waiting for you, your perfect match. I was just a - fleeting fancy.”

“Right now I don’t want them,” Geralt insisted. "Whoever they are. I don't know them. I know you." He still wore a lost expression on his face, and knelt there in front of Jaskier on the floor still wet and naked save for a towel. “I _want_ you.” 

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't. That way laid madness and heartbreak. “You’ll want them more the moment you meet them. I can’t go through that, Geralt - please understand. This is the most difficult thing I've ever had to do.” 

Geralt frowned as Jaskier slowly quieted down. He was still crying, but silently. He couldn't look at Geralt, but he could almost hear the cogs turning in his head, trying to process everything Jaskier had said. “...I have a proposition,” he said finally after the silence stretched on. Jaskier wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeves, looked at him and made an interrogative noise. He still wanted him, the gods damn his stupid heart. 

“A year,” Geralt said, fire brimming in his golden eyes. “A year, Jask. If in the next year I haven’t met my so-called _soulmate_ then I’m all yours - for however long you’ll want me.” 

That… was so much more than Jaskier expected. His jaw hit the floor. 

He wanted to say no, because this would just hurt both of them worse in the long run. 

Who’s to say Geralt would feel the same way about him a year from now? This was a bad idea. It was also the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to him. 

“A year,” he agreed faintly, and cursed himself for being so weak. “O - okay.” 

“Alright,” Geralt echoed. He was smiling again. So beautiful Jaskier couldn't look away. “Can I kiss you now?” 

Jaskier nodded, helpless to resist. Geralt’s lips were soft and made Jaskier’s whole body tingle pleasantly. He moaned into the kiss and wove his fingers in Geralt’s hair. He opened his mouth for Geralt to kiss him more deeply, and Geralt's hands squeezed his hips. Fuck. _Fuck_. This was all he'd ever wanted. He was losing it. 

Jaskier has no idea how long it lasted, but when they finally parted from one another he felt warm all over, happy and buoyant. He was also hard. He wanted to kiss Geralt again immediately, but remembered their agreement. It was stupid. Who had suggested it again, when Geralt was right here for the taking? 

"Breathe, Jaskier," Geralt told him in that amused voice of his. He rubbed his hand up and down Jaskier's back as Jaskier slowly remembered himself. He disentangled himself from Geralt, blushing beet red. He cleared his throat.

"A year,” he said, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s. “You promise?” 

“Promise,” Geralt murmured back honestly. 

It was more than Jaskier had ever expected or hoped for. If Geralt hadn’t met his soulmate by the end of the year, then he promised to give himself completely to Jaskier. 

Jaskier hoped Geralt would never meet them. He hoped fervently, feverishly, selfishly with every cell in his body that the man he was falling in love with _never_ met his soulmate. _Fuck_ Destiny. 

But whether Destiny would agree with his plea was another matter entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find the title of this fic hilarious because it's a perfect summary of the story, but the cheerfulness of the song is at odds with the tone of this fic. XD
> 
> Thank you very much for reading this first chapter! I'd love to hear your thoughts. I fell for Eskel after reading the wonderful story The Warlord and His Pack by inexplicifics, which I urge you all to discover! The worldbuilding is wonderful!
> 
> This fic pretty much wrote itself and I love what it became. Note that I am very much playing with timelines here. All of it is written and only needs editing, so you shouldn't have to wait too long between updates! I'm eager to share it with you. See you next time ! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To his credit, Geralt does try to talk to him before he leaves, guilt whirling in his amber eyes. Jaskier knows how sorry he is. He doesn’t want to hear it -- not when he's trying so hard to keep his composure, the last shreds of his dignity wrapped around him like a shroud. He smiles tightly and tells Geralt it’s okay. He's happy for him. Geralt seems relieved that he reacts so well. Jaskier hates him. (He doesn't.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself i'd wait between updates but humans are, by nature, contradictory. :P 
> 
> yennefer appears in the picture, jaskier yearns, time skip, but they're alright. i promise.

By mutual agreement, he and Geralt went back to being simple friends. 

If Jaskier sometimes caught Geralt looking at him, or if he caught himself returning those looks when he thought Geralt wasn't paying attention, well. That was neither here nor there. He was slowly but surely getting better at hiding, ignoring, and burying his own inappropriate feelings. Geralt had gone back to his old self, all grunts and monosyllabic answers of a man who only seemed to care about gold and monsters. That was fine. Everything was _fine_. 

Six months into their arrangement and Jaskier started thinking that perhaps, perhaps - he would be lucky after all. Just this once.

He invited Geralt to come with him to Cintra where, after a shit show of a feast, the Witcher decided quite spontaneously and stupidly to invoke the Law of Surprise - thus winning Princess Pavetta’s unborn child in the process. 

He ran away from Cintra with Jaskier at his heels and was in an absolutely _foul_ mood the weeks that followed. He was even more rude than usual, completely isolated himself from Jaskier and the rest of the world. When Jaskier insisted he should at least _try_ to talk about it, Geralt pinned him to a tree hard enough that Jaskier hit his head and was briefly knocked out. Geralt became even more withdrawn after that incident. It was like talking to a brick wall, only… worse. And it kept getting worse as the days went by because Geralt apparently couldn’t get a wink of sleep which resulted in him being even angrier and on edge. 

Eight months into their arrangement, in Vengerberg, Geralt heard rumors of a djinn that lived in a lake in a forest nearby. 

Instead of doing something sensible like taking a sleeping potion, getting laid, or doing breathing exercises -- all of which Jaskier had suggested he try -- Geralt got it in his head that the _only_ reasonable way for him to get some sleep was to find the djinn and make a wish. An unbelievable endeavor, and yet Jaskier was at his side the whole time, even when Geralt stormed into the forest determinedly with a fisher’s net slung over his shoulder. He found the lake and started fishing with rather poor skills for the amphora in which the djinn was supposedly imprisoned. Jaskier tried to help, and Geralt insulted his singing for his troubles. Now Jaskier was rightfully pissed. When Geralt actually found the amphora (which was surprising to say the least) they fought over it like a pair of bickering children because he wanted Geralt to apologize. 

It was… not the proudest moment of Jaskier’s life, he could admit. They accidentally opened the amphora. Absolutely nothing happened. 

“Hmm. Bit of an anticlimax,” Jaskier said, disappointed. The skies got darker and a strong wind rustled the leaves of the trees. “...Or is it?!” 

Jaskier, believing himself to be the djinn's master and also wanting to annoy Geralt, spontaneously made two wishes before the Witcher caught him by the scruff of his neck and rudely interrupted him. “Stop! There are only three wishes!” Geralt growled. 

“Oh come on,” Jaskier retorted, “You always say you want nothing from life! How was I to know you wanted three wishes all to _yourself?!”_ He could have wished for Geralt to never meet his bloody soulmate for a start! 

“I just want some damn peace!” Geralt said, frustrated. 

“Well here’s your peace!” Jaskier said, throwing the amphora down, just as frustrated with Geralt’s attitude lately as the man was with his. Seriously, Jaskier was just trying to help here! This was ridiculous ! The wind got even stronger, more menacing. Jaskier suddenly had difficulty breathing, as though something was clogging up his throat. “Geralt…!” 

Geralt cast Aard at the djinn to chase it away. The skies cleared. Jaskier fell down, wheezing and choking. Something warm bubbled up his throat and spilled over his lips, dribbling down his chin. He looked up at Geralt and saw terror reflected back in the man’s eyes as he gagged. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _breathe_. 

Geralt swore profusely. 

\--- 

Eight months into their arrangement, Geralt meets his soulmate. 

She is a terrifyingly beautiful, powerful and _insane_ sorceress who smells like lilac and gooseberries. She saves Jaskier's life after the djinn accident. Geralt almost dies saving hers when she attempts to become a vessel for the djinn. In no time at all, he is completely smitten with her. 

Jaskier knew he would be. He'd predicted this. She's his soulmate after all. 

He hears them fuck in the ruins of the alderman's house and when they walk outside together, dirty but alive and satisfied, he tries not to show how much seeing them together chars him to the core. He picks up the remains of his broken heart, his lute, and decides he'll travel alone for a while while Geralt cozies up with Yennefer in Vengerberg. 

To his credit, Geralt does try to talk to him before he leaves, guilt whirling in his amber eyes. Jaskier knows how sorry he is. He doesn’t want to hear it -- not when he's trying so hard to keep his composure, the last shreds of his dignity wrapped around him like a shroud. He smiles tightly and tells Geralt it’s okay. He's happy for him. Geralt seems relieved that he reacts so well. Jaskier hates him. (He doesn't.)

He saw this coming, truly he did, he was in denial but he sensed it. It still hurts like a bitch to live in this reality, but he’ll recover. He has to. Yet he is tired. Weary. He composes another song, _Her Sweet Kiss_ , about Yennefer and Geralt and him. He feels absolutely no joy when it becomes another hit like _Toss A Coin._

He uses the adventures he's had with Geralt as fodder for a whole series of songs that become popular, and he composes one about ill-fated lovers that has people in the audience crying when he performs it at the annual bardic competition in Vartburg. Valdo Marx looks like he swallowed a lemon the wrong way when Jaskier wins the first place, the youngest competitor to do so. Jaskier smiles at him like a shark, pockets his reward money, and keeps traveling. He journeys across the Continent for six years (at least he thinks it's been six years) before deciding to head back to Oxenfurt. 

In all this time, he never bumps into Geralt once, but the ache of missing him has dulled to something he can easily ignore so long as he keeps himself occupied. He finds solace in the familiarity and liveliness of Oxenfurt. He visits the grounds of the Academy again and stumbles upon the old Director, who Jaskier knows quite well as he spent a number of hours getting reprimanded in his office for his lazy and off-hand attitude. Mr. Miller tells him he has heard about Jaskier's famous reputation, announces a teacher has just retired, and then offers him a position as a professor of the Liberal Arts. Jaskier takes it. It'll be good to settle down for a while, and he won't say no to a regular income. 

He charms his students the way he charmed every audience, and loses himself in the easy rhythm of it all -- lecturing, playing music, grading papers, attending seminars, etc. The youth is interested in what he has to say and eager to learn. Some of them have great potential. Professor Lettenhove makes friends with the other teachers. He grows a beard. He starts seeing silvery strands appear in his hair. 

The year is 1277 when he sees Geralt again. Jaskier is 36. Geralt looks like he hasn't aged a day. 

\--

For once, it is Geralt who takes the initiative and seeks him out by paying him an unexpected visit in Oxenfurt. He says he's here for a contract, but Jaskier knows better. He smiles warily - Geralt was worried. Worried for him. More than ten years have passed since they last saw each other and that is a startling realization. Frankly he thought they'd run into each other sooner, but (as Geralt will explain later and Jaskier will concur) they've both been busy. Destiny had other plans. 

But here they are now. 

His heart beats with the echo of an emotion he once felt for the man sitting across him. Jaskier buys him a drink, and Geralt talks: he says Jaskier’s beard suits him; he says he has finally found his Child Surprise, Cirilla, and that they… sort of adopted each other. He brought her to Kaer Morhen for safety, where he and his brothers and Yennefer and another mage named Triss taught her all she needed to know about being a Witcher and a sorceress. Ciri graduated and now follows her own Path as a young woman. He misses her of course, but he knows they'll find each other again come winter. 

It is a lot to take in. Jaskier asks him how things are going with Yennefer. _Good_ , Geralt says, _good_. He smiles softly, suddenly far away. She has a fiery temper and he's an asshole but they make it work. He is… happy. He's found a family. But…he looks at Jaskier. _Someone is missing,_ he says. Geralt enquires about him then. His life at Oxenfurt. His friends and acquaintances and possible lovers. He’s never been as chatty and polite as this when Jaskier knew him, and it is a bit baffling. Jaskier struggles to reconcile the two men in his head. Having Cirilla and caring for her must have really changed Geralt, he thinks. He's never been so open. So Jaskier does the opposite - he closes himself off. 

_He’s fine. Oxenfurt is fine. No, he hasn’t met anyone new, nor does he particularly want to. He likes teaching. Oxenfurt is lovely._

Geralt asks him about his songs. Jaskier hasn’t composed anything new for a while now, comfortably enjoying the fame already associated with his name. They call him Master Jaskier now, did you know that Geralt? It's all thanks to you, dear Witcher. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Geralt says. “You have talent, Jaskier, you were and are a good singer, musician and composer. Ciri knows your songs! I didn’t do anything except… grumble at you.” 

Jaskier laughs, delightfully surprised. “You did, didn’t you? Gods you were such a grumpy asshole sometimes.” 

"And you a careless jester," Geralt shoots back easily. Jaskier raises his glass. 

"Touché." 

They drink some more until late into the night, going back to Jaskier’s quarters at the Academy when the tavern closes. Geralt takes in his room: the scrolls of parchments and heavy manuscripts piled up on Jaskier’s desk, the pot of ink and the quills, the map of the Continent pinned to the wall, Jaskier’s elven lute in a corner, and the large bed hastily made in the morning when Jaskier was late for a lecture. 

Jaskier takes two glasses from a cabinet and a bottle of spirits he keeps for very special occasions. He pours them both a drink. They sit down, Jaskier on his office desk, Geralt in the only armchair he has in the room (which he usually uses to read before bed.) Geralt observes him above the rim of his glass. His ivory hair shines in the moonlight streaming through the window. His amazing eyes attract Jaskier to him like the sun. Jaskier should look away from his weakness. He hates that even after all these years, and even knowing the man is well taken, he still wishes he could kiss him. He wishes he could _take_ and keep him. 

He thought he was done with this. Even if it's just plain physical attraction, he doesn't want or need it. But it's not - Geralt is his soulmate, so Jaskier knows he'll always gravitate towards him no matter what he tells himself. He feels morose. He drinks some more. At the end, when they’re both completely sloshed (and Jaskier fully regrets drinking that much, he is not as young as he once was) Geralt says, “Come with me.” 

“Hmm?” Jaskier says. He is observing the whiskey in his glass, twirling it around, fascinated by its golden color. Almost like Geralt’s eyes. 

“Come with me on the path. A - again. You could write some new songs.” 

Jaskier squints and considers it, even if it's a bit hard to think at the moment. He is doing well for himself here at Oxenfurt. He has a good position, one that is well-paid, and he is appreciated by teachers and students alike. It is comfortable. He is alright, and yet -- yet… Yet seeing Geralt there brings back to the forefront of his mind a multitude of memories he thought he had long forgotten. He sees himself at eighteen, positively vibrating with unbridled energy, dreaming of fame and adventure and love, and wonders where that boy has gone. 

Geralt has never made the first move. Why now? The longer Jaskier takes to answer, the more the light in his eyes dim -- as if he knows Jaskier will laugh and refuse. He balls his hands into fists on his knees, seeming ready to berate himself for making such an ill-timed, stupid suggestion. Perhaps that is why Jaskier says _yes_ . If only to feel again a fraction of what he did when he used to travel with Geralt : fear, anger, frustration, heartache but also joy, excitement, elation, pride, admiration, _desire_. He has become a bit idle, it’s true -- contenting himself with this good life and ignoring any call of his heart for more. More emotion, more passion, more vigor. Melitele bless Geralt for showing up when he did. Another few years and he isn't sure he'd have had the courage to even get up from his chair. 

He can accompany Geralt. He can go back on the road with his late Muse to experience the thrilling pleasure of writing and singing new songs to a more diverse audience once again. Geralt looks like he’d treat him more like an equal than a parasite this time around, that he’d be more appreciative of his work and of Jaskier’s _delightful_ company. He is curious: he wants to get to know this new Geralt, this man who is happy in love and who accidentally became a father. He wants to get to know this softer version of Geralt who seems much more in tune with the world around him and its people. He is still the Witcher Jaskier knew, but he has also changed quite a lot. So has Jaskier. Maybe it is time for them to travel as friends again. Maybe the world has more to offer him than what he has already settled for, and maybe he has more to give to the world as well. Perhaps this is his chance at a new beginning! 

How sickeningly romantic! Jaskier doesn’t really do romance, not really, not anymore, but he’s never ceased to believe in the power of a good adventure. “Fine,” he says when the silence has become deeply uncomfortable. Geralt looks taken aback, then relieved and even glad. “But you’re buying me a horse.”

\---

Geralt buys half of the horse, a gray gelding named Pegasus. He stares mournfully when his hard-earned money goes into the seller’s greedy hands. Jaskier is unapologetic: this is proof that Geralt really wants him around. And he's nearly forty now, there is no way that he’s walking behind Geralt all day. 

Geralt’s horse is still a mare, and she’s still called Roach. Jaskier smiles fondly. “What generation of Roach is she?” he asks as they lead Pegasus into the stall next to hers. It’s the stable of the inn Geralt is staying at as Oxenfurt Academy is no place to care for a horse, even just for a night. 

“I lost count,” Geralt admits. Roach wickers and he scratches her behind the ears. This one is a slightly darker brown than the one Jaskier knew, and she has a white spot like a splash of paint beneath her left eye. 

“She’s beautiful,” Jaskier says, and Roach snorts. He eyes Pegasus, who is munching on some hay. “I hope they’ll get along.” 

“Hmm.” 

_Hmm._ Jaskier hides his smile by moving closer and petting Roach as well. _Hmm_. Oh, he'd missed this. Geralt's _expressive_ hums. 

It almost feels like things are back to normal again, the way they always should have been. 

\---

They leave Oxenfurt the next week, taking advantage of the spring holidays. Jaskier clears his room, packing as much stuff as he can - he has a _horse_ now, thank you very much, and the horse can and will carry _things._ He gives what he can't take with him to Shani, his friend and colleague, for safekeeping. He says goodbye to his students, gives them homework, and tells them to be nice to whoever will replace him come April. They seem sad to see him go, so Jaskier takes his lute and, for the last fifteen minutes of class, plays whatever request they have until there are smiles again on their young faces. 

One girl lingers behind when the bell rings. She comes up to Jaskier to thank him a bit more personally, saying that she really liked his teaching, that he's been a great help to her, and then blurts out that she really _really_ likes him. The blush on her face contrasts with the ebony of her hair. She fidgets, waiting for an answer, looking both relieved and mortified to have confessed her affections. Jaskier smiles and handles this with care but firmness (it is not the first time a student has professed their undying love for him, comes with the job) and sends the girl back to her friends who will handle the rest. 

He takes one last look at the amphitheater; he knows he promised the Director Mr. Miller that he would come back in a more or less distant future, but he is not so sure it will actually happen. It doesn’t feel like it. It feels more like he is closing a particular chapter of his life and finally turning another page. Gods only know what the next few years will bring. 

Geralt is waiting for him at the gates of Oxenfurt. Jaskier says goodbye to Shani, kissing her on the cheeks, and then ambles up to the Witcher. Geralt is holding their two horses by the reins, one on each side; they are both saddled up, their coats shining, ready to be mounted. Geralt shockingly offers his help when it comes to loading Jaskier’s personal belongings in his brand new saddlebags and between the two of them they are done in no time at all. Jaskier carefully ties his lute case to a silver buckle attached to one of the saddlebags while Geralt mounts Roach. The Witcher is wearing his full armor in shades of dark blue and brown; his two telltale longswords are strapped to his back, and he has tied his longer hair up in a bun. 

“You shaved your beard,” Geralt observes. Jaskier self-consciously rubs at his jaw. 

“Yeah. Feels weird, to be honest - I think I might let it grow back.” 

“Hmm. It looked good on you.” 

Jaskier absolutely does _not_ blush, thank you very much. It's a trick of the light. And just to be contradictory, he decides to shave regularly. 

One such morning, he examines his face in the mirror and is pleased to find that, all in all, the signs of age aren’t very visible on his face. Thank the gods for good genes and equally good moisturizer. His parents too had always looked like they were ten years younger than their real age, much to the envy of some of their friends. It must run in the family. Oh, of course he doesn’t look like he is twenty anymore, but it could be worse. He could be _balding_. But his hair, while streaked with silver, is still thick, soft and healthy, and apart from the crow’s feet he doesn’t have many lines on his face. Good. 

Perhaps he can still get it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have given up on love after all. 

(The soulmark is still there, the words forever engraved in the skin of his forearm like a brand. It’s fine. The pain feels more like an old friend now.) 

Geralt and him quickly fall back into old habits, as though there hadn’t been a gap in their shared history of more than ten years. 

In a lot of ways, nothing has changed: they go from town to town as they make their way across the Continent, heading to the East. Their progress is quicker than before, courtesy of the both of them having a horse. They still make breaks in small towns and backwater villages; Geralt still takes on contracts and helps the people when he can, fighting monster after monster and coming back covered in guts and gross matter; they still share rooms at inns to save up on coin (although Jaskier has the advantage of having had a good, regular salary for the past few years of teaching at Oxenfurt). 

He happily performs come evening at those inns while Geralt nurses his ale in a corner. When he's done with his sets, they either go up to bed or play a few rounds of Gwent. Jaskier is widely well known now as a bard and - except in a few, very remote places - people almost trip over themselves in their haste to have the pleasure to see one of his performances. He has _fans._ He doesn't hide his smugness or pride when people ask him to sign the first page of a book, a piece of cloth or even their arms now. _How's that for a pie with no filling, Geralt?_ Geralt doesn’t say it, but Jaskier can see he is impressed. When people do pay attention to him, it is to identify him as “Master Jaskier’s Witcher!” and suddenly Geralt is swarmed by a crowd of young, adoring, curious faces. He looks very uncomfortable in the face of such attention. It is hilarious to witness. The first time it happens Jaskier cries laughing and ends up on the floor. 

In other ways, traveling with Geralt again is completely different. For one, they have never been this well off. Mostly due to Jaskier’s fame, their purses are always fat with coin, and they can afford luxuries they wouldn’t have before, like new clothes or armor when they feel like it, jewelry (for Jaskier, who buys himself a single silver hoop earring; Geralt makes a weird noise when he notices it), all kinds of sweet and rich food, the best rooms in inns they stay at and regular baths. It feels damned good. 

Another difference is the absolute lack of… action on both their parts. Geralt never visits whorehouses anymore (Jaskier assumes it's because Yennefer wouldn’t be pleased if he did). As for Jaskier, whereas once upon a time he would have been all over the attractive man or woman who simply smiled at him or looked at him a tad too long, he now finds he prefers getting into bed, comfortably alone, and enjoy a good night’s sleep instead of trying to perform for a single time partner who will never love him back… It’s a bit sad. Jaskier frowns when he realizes how bleak his love life - or lack thereof - has become, and he resolves to try to be a bit more open-minded. 

Another big change this new life on the road brings is that Geralt is _chatty_ now. He’ll never reach Jaskier’s level of loquaciousness (even if he himself has become a bit more subdued in his later years, Geralt still can’t compete with the flow of words that comes pouring out of his mouth every minute) but he does make the effort to actually talk. Honestly, Jaskier isn’t totally sure that Geralt hasn’t been replaced by a friendlier doppler. Geralt laughs heartily when he makes the suggestion, and that’s another change : Geralt is happier than Jaskier has ever seen him. He is more open, more talkative, more prone to jokes and good hearted jibes. It is weird, but a good kind of weird, and Jaskier gets used to, _enjoys_ it, quickly enough. 

  
He had missed this, he realizes. The easy companionship, the camaraderie, the brotherhood - before he went and ruined it all with romantic feelings, throwing himself at Geralt and ignoring the warning signs. He can and he will enjoy this while it lasts; it feels good to be on the move again, and being with Geralt, actually talking about things, is… helping him heal, moreso than he has before. The old wounds of heartache reopen but are slowly mended, slowly stitched back together, until Jaskier is sitting more upright on his horse, brimming with an energy than he hasn’t experienced in quite a while. He is grinning with all his teeth, and Geralt is looking at him with affection, and he feels _great._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sky is blue, water is wet, comments are my lifeblood and motivate me to write more fic. thank you for reading <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck,” Jaskier mutters. “Phew, what a day! I imagine you’re probably --” 
> 
> _“Damn it Jaskier!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you saw it coming ! it's the dragon hunt ! yay !!!!! (the tag 'timeline what timeline' is here for a reason ! XD) 
> 
> enjoy ! <3

It was good while it lasted. 

Things go to hell in a handbasket when they are in Caigorn. Geralt takes on a contract for a basilisk, which is worrying because that beast is terrifying, ten meters long of scales, venomous fangs and eyes that can - at least according to legends - turn you into stone. Jaskier is a bit anxious, a bit scared for Geralt’s wellbeing, but the Witcher reassures him that this isn’t his first rodeo with such a beast and that he’ll be just fine. Jaskier believes him, but it doesn't loosen the knot of unease in his chest. 

To distract himself, he sits on a rock and strums his lute, trying not to pay attention to the two men talking in low voices next to Geralt’s horse who hired the Witcher for this new contract. An hour goes by, then an hour and a half, and the men start getting agitated. “Let’s get on before the beast gets hungry again.” 

“But we made a deal.” 

“Aye, we made a deal with a livin’ witcher," the man says. "No sense in hangin’ around to pay a dead one." Putting word to action he walks up to Roach and unclaps both of Geralt’s saddlebags with all his belongings, slinging them over the shoulder of his partner in crime. Then he eyes Pegasus with consideration, while Jaskier scrambles up to them to dissuade them from stealing his and Geralt’s things, because stealing is… bad. 

“Bollocks - oi, oi, oi, no! Don’t do that!” He says indignantly when wannabe Thief n°1 opens one of the bags on Pegasus’ back and peers inside. Pegasus snorts and stomps his foot on the ground. “That’s - that’s mine! Don’t touch anything, or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” The other man asks, sneering. “Sing us to death?” 

Jaskier stammers, trying to think of a witty and threatening response (wishing for a second he had Geralt’s capability to glower his enemies into submission) when a _third_ , unknown voice is heard. It belongs to an old, sixty-something year-old man wearing a scaled, golden doublet. “Perhaps you did not hear the man,” the stranger says calmly. 

“Yeah!” Jaskier agrees vehemently. “Perhaps you didn’t - di… Sorry, who are you?” 

The first of the two thieves steps forward menacingly, looming over the old man by at least a head. Jaskier notices two dark-skinned, beautiful women who also appeared out of nowhere. They are armed to the teeth. One of them stays behind the old man like a sexy if very scary-looking bodyguard, while the other goes behind Thief n°1. 

“Do as the bard asks or I’ll be forced to draw my weapons." 

“What weapon’ ? I see no steel here,” the thief says and - first and last mistake - pushes the old man away. The lady behind him immediately spring into action, kicking him in the balls in retaliation and then - holy mother of god - she snaps his neck and kills him.

“Oh!” Jaskier exclaims, shocked. _What the fuck?!_

“Steel won’t be necessary,” the woman-who-just-graduated-to-murderer-status says. Then, as if Jaskier hadn’t had enough thrills for the day, a bloody basilisk head lands in the middle of their little congregation, making him jump. Looks like Geralt’s hunt was successful. Geralt effectively glowers at the failed thief n°2, who hastily tosses the Witcher his due coin and puts his saddlebags down before fleeing. Geralt takes in the rest of his audience, raising his eyebrow at the old man and the two women behind him. And Jaskier, who still looks a bit pale. 

“You alright?” He asks, furrowing his brows in concern. 

Jaskier nods and swallows. “Yeah, b - but… Geralt, this woman just… killed a man with her bare hands for trying to steal your horse!” 

Geralt considers this. “Perhaps she’ll make a better travel companion then,” he says. 

Jaskier splutters indignantly. Harrumphing, he turns back to the three strangers who _somehow_ found them and decided to tag along uninvited. “I’m sorry, who are you exactly?” 

“I am Borch Three Jackdaws,” the old man says, stepping towards Geralt to introduce himself. 

“That’s a mouthful,” Jaskier says. Everyone ignores him. He sniffles. 

“These are my companions, Téa and Véa.” 

\--

Borch invites them to dinner. Neither Geralt nor Jaskier have ever been men to refuse free food or drink when it is so kindly offered, so they accept - even if Jaskier has a bad feeling about all of this. He tries to ignore the nagging concern at the back of his mind and enjoy his meal while Borch talks. He wants to hire Geralt to go on a dragon hunt, and theirs won’t be the only party involved. All the others are already present in the tavern - a group of dwarves, a group of mercenaries, their party, and… 

“Who is the fourth?” Jaskier asks. 

“It’s - ah, there they are!” Borch is looking at the door of the inn, where a woman wearing expensive-looking grey furs just appeared. She is accompanied by a literal knight in shining armor. Geralt chokes on his drink. 

“Yenna?!” 

“Yenna?” Borch repeats, tilting his head. 

“His soulmate,” Jaskier informs him. It comes out more bitter than he intended. Geralt has left their table to stride to Yennefer’s side. He clearly hadn’t expected to see her here when he left her in Kaer Morhen, and the conversation looks rather heated at first before it settles down. Geralt takes her hand in his and Yennefer cups his face in her hand before leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his lips. Someone hollers. Jaskier looks away. They look incredibly good together, and they were clearly meant for one another. Jaskier is _happy_ for Geralt, he really is. His knuckles hurt from how tightly he is holding onto his tankard. 

Whatever Yennefer tells him, it is enough for Geralt to regain his composure. He comes back to their table and agrees to join Borch’s little expedition. Jaskier, for once, doesn’t want to follow him. He liked what they had with Geralt, when it was just the two of them setting off serenely towards the East. All these new people are throwing that fragile peace out the window. 

But Jaskier does follow. Of course he follows. Because Geralt is his soulmate, and they've only just found each other again. He'll keep making the same mistakes, keep desperately wanting what he cannot have. 

\--- 

The hunt begins with a long hike up a rocky and sandy steep mountainside, which Jaskier has decided he hates with every fiber of his being. They had been forced to abandon their horses at the foot of the mountain, and he doesn’t trust the people he left Pegasus with one bit. They look like they’d gladly rob him and sell his horse at the market in a blink; he hopes he’s mistaken and that the handsome payment they received to care for the animals will dissuade them should the thought cross their minds. 

Geralt is visibly rattled by Yennefer’s presence. He is more tense than before, and doesn’t talk as much. Finally, Jaskier thinks with irony, he's starting to behave like the Geralt he knows. It's almost a relief. 

**

Two days go by. For some god forsaken reason, Yennefer keeps flirting with her knight for hire, a ridiculous man named Sir Eyck, right in front of Geralt’s eyes. Jaskier really hates her. Geralt’s mood keeps deteriorating as time flies, and nothing Jaskier says or does can bring him out of his shell. Yennefer mocks him when he demands to know what the fuck her problem is, and says something along the lines of, ‘The crow’s feet are new.’ She, of course, hasn’t aged a day and still looks like a perfect porcelain doll. 

It’s unfair. All of it. As Geralt's _friend_ , he finds Yennefer's attitude insufferable and childish. Does she not realize how lucky she is to have Geralt's heart?! Jaskier mutters a reply, and then decides that the two lovebirds are _adult_ enough to get their shit together without his fucking interference _,_ damn it. 

\--

Sir Eyck dies. So do Borch, Téa, and Véa, all falling into the abyss when the wooden bridge built by the dwarves on the side of the mountain as a shortcut gives up under their weight. Their deaths unnerve Geralt profoundly, as he was helpless to do anything to help them despite his inhuman strength. 

That evening, while the others are busy making camp, Geralt sits on a rock and looks at the horizon. Silent, pensive and alone, and for all that he's tried, Jaskier cannot let him go. 

He sits next to him. “You did your best. There’s nothing else you could have done.” 

Geralt hums. 

“Look,” Jaskier begins. What does he expect? This is foolish. He is a _moron_ , a masochist who likes to break his own heart. “Why don’t we - leave tomorrow? I liked it. When it was just the two of us as… travel companions.” He licks his lips, pushes through the wall. “We could head to the coast,” he says softly. “Get away for awhile. It's not too late.” His soulmark tingles. Jaskier ignores the phantom feeling. Geralt doesn’t reply. “Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? Life is too short. Do what pleases you while you can.” 

“...Composing your next song?” Geralt replies, voice gravelly. 

“Ah - no,” Jaskier chuckles. “I’m just… trying to work out what pleases me.” That's a lie. He knows what and who he likes and what he wants, has lived with the weight of it for years. 

Silence. Geralt licks his lips, looks at him sideways. “Jaskier… You know that I - ” 

“Geralt!” Yennefer’s voice calls. Her tent overlooks the rest of the camp. She is standing in front of it, her arms crossed, waiting for Geralt to join her for the night. 

“...I have to go,” Geralt murmurs, dejected. "I'm sorry." 

“I know.” Jaskier closes his eyes as they well up with tears. “Go. I'm fine.” 

“Jaskier…”

_“I’m fine.”_

Geralt hesitates. “I’m… sorry,” he repeats. “I really am. I never wanted this.” 

Jaskier laughs humorlessly. “I know.” 

Geralt leaves. 

Jaskier stays behind, and watches the sunset. 

\----- 

Things take on a chaotic turn, enough to make his head swim. Jaskier is too tired for this shit: seriously, the whole _dragons being real_ thing was bad enough, but dead people coming back to life?! And a fucking gold dragon? They're supposed to be legends! Also why in heaven’s name did _nobody_ wake him up for the grand finale?! He's the bard, damn it! He records history being made with his songs! That’s insulting! It's like he's just a part of the scenery! _Moreover_ , Jaskier is good at talking and charming people! He could have offered being a diplomat to avoid all this unnecessary bloodshed! Instead he finds himself facing the scene of a gruesome crime after he missed all the action! Gods damn it ! He HATES this mountain, and this whole expedition, and the people, he hates everything about this ! EVERYTHING! They never should have come! Why does he never listen to his gut feeling! Fuck! 

But it gets worse! People don’t change, not really, did you know that? For all that Geralt has made progress, and he _has_ , he is still Geralt of fucking Rivia and continues to sometimes be an emotionally stunted _prick_ on top of being a grumpy asshole. 

It starts when Geralt argues with Yenn because of something Borch said (gods, Jaskier _dislikes_ that man: gold dragon or no, he completely shattered the harmony he’d found with Geralt). 

She now thinks what they feel for each other was only caused by the djinn. The betrayal runs deep. He tells her that’s impossible because they’re soulmates, and were always meant to find one another, djinn or not. Then it turns into accusations about children: sharp, cutting remarks from both of their sides about how Yennefer wanting to have a child is no way to boost her fragile ego, and about Geralt’s numerous failures with Ciri. They’ve known each other a long time. They know exactly what to say to hit the other where it will hurt the most, straight into the heart of their deepest insecurities and fears. It hurts to watch. 

Yennefer storms off in a flurry of robes and disappears through a portal of her own making, after having strongly implied that Geralt has lost her for good this time. Geralt watches helplessly, brokenhearted, his chest heaving. It's a freakshow. Borch then sees fit to twist the knife in the open wound by reminding Geralt of his child surprise and telling him that running away from Ciri to _reconnect with the past_ \- here he glances at Jaskier, who is witnessing all this from the sidelines and can already tell dealing with the aftermath of such an emotionally compromised Geralt will be very ugly - is something only cowards do. Geralt growls in frustration and snaps back that he _has_ taken care of Ciri, damn it, he _has_ faced his Destiny, he has done everything he could and should. He's taught her everything he knew. She's a grown woman, she's made it clear to him that she could fend for herself. She doesn't _need_ him. 

“But she misses you,” Borch says simply. “You're still her father, and she's still young. She wants to see you again. You… and Yennefer,” he adds, his gaze softening. 

“You made fucking sure Yennefer never wanted to see me again,” Geralt snarls back, looking this close to throttling Borch. Borch raises an eyebrow. 

“Lovers argue, Geralt. It happens all the time. You’re soulmates, you can’t be apart for long once you’ve found one another. You know it and she knows it. You both said things you didn’t mean, and you both need to apologize. She’ll come around, while _you_ should be more sensitive and respectful of her desperate wish to bear a child - _your_ child. She's doing this for both of you. It is a very important thing for a woman to lose, and Yennefer was very young when she made that choice.” 

With that last bit of revelation paired with uncalled for marital advice, Borch leaves them with a last pat on Geralt’s shoulder as if everything was just perfectly dandy. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier mutters. “Phew, what a day!” He tells Geralt. “I imagine you’re probably --” 

_“Damn it Jaskier!”_

Ah. 

He knew this was going to end in tears. 

To be frank, he is a bit tired of crying for and because of Geralt of fucking Rivia. The words on his wrist start burning again. He slaps his hand over them, and Geralt’s eyes follow the movement. His eyes flash with unbridled anger. Jaskier instinctively takes a step back. “WHY IS IT WHENEVER I FIND MYSELF IN A PILE OF SHIT, IT’S YOU! SHOVELING IT!” 

“That’s not fair --” 

“SHUT UP! THE CHILD SURPRISE, THE DJINN, ALL OF IT! AND... THIS!” He yells, then lunges, reaching for Jaskier’s left wrist, gripping it tight enough to hurt. With his other hand he tugs Jaskier’s sleeve up, baring his soulmark to the world. _I’m here to drink alone._ "THIS - CURSE!" 

“Let go of me!” 

“YOUR _MARK,”_ Geralt bellows. “I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!” 

“Geralt, you’re hurting me!” 

“EVEN IF I WANTED TO, I COULD NEVER LOVE YOU, JASKIER! IF LIFE COULD GIVE ME ONE BLESSING, IT WOULD BE TO TAKE _YOU_ OFF MY HANDS!” 

The poisoned words echo in the mountains around them. 

“Ah,” Jaskier says emptily. “Right. Well then.” 

Geralt is trembling. His face is thunderous, and his nails dig painfully in the soft skin of Jaskier’s arm. "I'm not done." 

“Ooh yes you are. You’ve made your feelings quite clear, _Butcher.”_ Geralt lets go of him at the insult and reels back as if slapped. Jaskier feels nauseous, but he swallows back the bile at the back of his tongue. “If all you ever felt for me was disgust and misplaced guilt, then you can _shove_ it. I’m done with you. I’ll... get the rest of the story from the others _._ See you around, Geralt.” 

Jaskier turns on his heels sharply. He starts walking away quickly, then trotting, and then he is running as fat tears roll down his cheeks. He doesn’t care if Geralt sees him, how pitiful of a picture he must make. Doesn’t care how guilty and regretful Geralt will feel afterwards when he’s had time to get a grip on his emotions again. 

Jaskier wipes the tears angrily with his sleeve. Snot runs down his nose, he is red-faced, ugly, miserable and he’s fucking _done._ He knew he had a bad feeling about this - should have listened to himself and not followed Geralt to the end of the world for once. He kicks a heavy rock with his foot, trying to find an outlet for the maelstrom of his emotions, and only succeeds in hurting himself. It doesn’t make him feel any better. 

He packs up his things in record time, completely ignoring the odd looks the dwarves give him. 

And he is leaving, leaving it all behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier: IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND I'M THE FIRST IN LINE HONEY I'M STILL FREE TAKE A CHANCE ON ME !!!!!! 🎵 
> 
> \--
> 
> Hello ! Thank you very much for the kind comments on the previous chapter!! I hope you liked this one! I'm in the process of editing chapter 4 (you know, the one in which our boy Eskel FINALLY appears) and I'm very excited about it. XD it should be up by the end of the week ! i hope you're doing well and i'll see you next time ! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _One story, that's all._ Seeing that the Witcher's tankard is nearly empty, Jaskier snaps his fingers. “Ed! Another ale for him. My treat.” Ed, the barkeep, looks between Jaskier and the Witcher, shakes his head, and starts filling up a large pitcher with beer. 
> 
> "Aye, comin'!" 
> 
> And the Witcher huffs and tells him: “I’m here to drink alone." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaight here we gooooo :D

Geralt shows enough common sense not to chase after him, not after this. Days, weeks go by, and Jaskier is equal parts relieved and… extremely mad. Despite prior evidence pointing to the contrary, it really feels like he was the only one for whom this relationship mattered. 

Geralt's words haunt him. A _curse_. _Even if I wanted to I could never love you. I could never_ **_love_ ** _you._ He tries to rationalize Geralt's behavior, think about his actions past the constant veil of pain and worthlessness that weighs down on him. He knows Geralt had had a hell of a day, a hell of a week even. He saw his soulmate flirt with someone else, saw people he cared about die and then come back to life; he had to fight and kill, and then Yennefer broke his heart. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Geralt lashed out at him like a wounded animal, and Jaskier had his reasons for doing the same _—_ a pit full of them. 

Sometimes, he fantasizes about Geralt crawling back to him, groveling at his feet, begging for Jaskier’s forgiveness _—_ offering himself, body and soul on a silver platter for Jaskier’s consumption. He laughs. If that actually happened, Jaskier would panic and think the man had been cursed because the Geralt he knows is way too proud to submit and stoop so low. It’s funny. Some other times he never wants to see Geralt again. If the man suddenly appeared in his field of vision, Jaskier would ignore him and reject his presence with all his being. He has suffered enough. He can blame Geralt for his faults yet he knows the man only ever did what he believed was right, including when it came to trying to figure out how exactly he and Jaskier fit. They missed their chance, perhaps due to obstacles Jaskier himself imposed on them in a poor attempt to protect his heart. And look how well _that_ turned out! 

Either way, what's done is done. There's no changing the past, and Jaskier ought to quit torturing himself with regrets and thoughts of what could have been. There's only… moving forward. One step at a time. He needs some distance from Geralt. He stubbornly tells himself he is glad that the man chose not to follow him. 

Weeks turn into months that turn into a year. 

After Caigorn, Jaskier spends the long months of spring and summer traveling: he goes to the coast, _alone_. He enjoys the sun, the sea and the numerous summer festivals. He plays for large crowds of people, even joins a band of troubadours at one point. It feels really good. He… He has sex again. He had told himself to be more open-minded after all. Self-imposed celibacy surely does a man no good. 

One evening around a campfire on the beach he drinks too much and suddenly finds himself with a lapful of a pretty, young blond woman. He wraps his arms around her waist automatically. She giggles, just as inebriated, before kissing him passionately and whispering in his ear that she's wanted to do this all night. Jaskier’s first instinct is to push her away, but… Why not? She wants him. Jaskier isn’t used to being on the receiving end of such desire anymore. 

Being with her is incredible. Back at her house Jaskier lays her down on the bed, prawls on all fours above her as she spreads her legs. He eats her out like a man starved, drowning himself in the sound of her sweet cries and the simple act of giving pleasure to a lover. His head is spinning. She moans prettily when he sinks into her. She's so soft, so wet for him, so hot. He is overwhelmed by everything that’s happening: her cunt clenching around his cock, her nails raking down his back as he fucks her, her blond hair fanned out on the pillow, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure, the red lipstick smeared around her lips, her smell... Jaskier wants to cry. He buries his face in her shoulder, and hugs her tightly as he comes. 

Afterwards, she strokes his hair and kisses his forehead as he rests his head on her breast. The silence is comfortable. He listens to her heartbeat as it slows down and her breathing deepens. She falls asleep. Jaskier props himself up on an elbow to stare at her. Perhaps he can allow himself this, right? Perhaps the words on his wrist don’t have to rule his entire life. Perhaps love can be found elsewhere... Perhaps he deserves to feel happy too. 

In the morning she is gone before he wakes up. Jaskier doesn't take it to heart. He feels surprisingly alright that day. There's a bounce in his step. He is happy to have let someone else this close _—_ however short their liaison might have been. This is great! This is what he needs! Simple human connection with no strings attached for a while!

_—_

With the arrival of autumn Jaskier decides on a whim to go visit his parents in Lettenhove. 

On the way, he lets his beard grow again, and decides not to shave it anymore. He does keep it trimmed neatly, liking how wiser, sultrier and more _mature_ it makes him look. He's no longer the young boy who left home two decades ago but a fully grown man who made something of himself. 

His parents’ impressive mansion is situated on the outskirts of the city, in a wealthy neighborhood. Jaskier buys himself new clothes, up to the nobility’s standards, as well as gifts of good will _—_ a golden watch for his father and a pair of pearl earrings for his mother. He gets a new embroidered blanket for his horse, and the morning of his visit he brushes Pegasus' coat until it shines. He is determined to make a good impression, even if he hasn't quite been the son they hoped for. 

But Mr. Claudius de Lettenhove and his wife Anne-Marie are very happy to see him again, much to Jaskier's surprise. While he made sure to keep up a regular correspondence with them, he feared they'd be a bit angry that he hasn't come by to visit in so long. As it is, they're only grateful he's finally back home, even if just for a short while. His mother especially can't stop gushing about what a handsome young man he's become _—_ embarrassing Jaskier like he's five again. He inherited his loquacity from her. 

His parents hadn’t really been enthusiastic at the idea of their son becoming a travelling bard. It was cute when Jaskier was little, less so when he was coming of age. He'd been supposed to take his responsibilities as heir and honor his family name, and Jaskier had simply refused to _—_ a hard pill his parents never quite swallowed. 

Except now that they've heard all about Jaskier’s success, their opinion has changed a lot. They welcomed him in with open arms. 

_—_

Jaskier spends two days with them, getting reacquainted with his mother, his father, and his younger brother _—_ who coincidentally happens to be visiting with his wife in tow at the same time. Jaskier has the pleasure of meeting his niece for the first time: Diana is a shy two-year old little girl with fluffy brown hair and wide, curious eyes who, as soon as Jaskier plays with her once, decides she will follow him everywhere. If he's out of sight, she goes around asking after “Uncah Jas!” all the time. Her parents are grateful for the break; they lounge on the terrasse around a cup of tea, enjoying the still-warm weather and chatting with Claudius and Anne while Jaskier gets dragged into playing tag in the garden. It's lovely. Jaskier's poor heart melts inside his breast. 

Oh, how he wants this too. Love and a little family of his own. 

His brother Viktor seems to be doing well for himself as the Director of the successful Lettenhove & Sons lawyer office. His father and mother retired some time ago. They spend their days reading, crocheting (for his mother), gardening (for his father), attending social events, and most importantly spoiling their first granddaughter. As for Viktor’s wife, she is a charming woman called Iris who works as a seamstress. The two met when they quite literally bumped into each other in a library; a month later, they were announcing their engagement. 

Iris is also a musician, so one evening Jaskier and her play a duet before supper. She is on the piano and he has his lute, and the two instruments work very well together. Jaskier sings while Diana does a little awkward dance, jumping and clapping her little chubby hands in time with the music, clearly delighted. Jaskier grins at her and sings louder. When bedtime comes around, he starts humming a lullaby. Iris takes her child in her arms and slowly rocks her to sleep. When she takes her to her bedroom Diana yawns and waves at Jaskier above her mother's shoulder to say goodnight. She's _adorable_. Jaskier understands why her parents are so gaga about her. 

He leaves at the same time as Viktor when the weekend is over, and they promise each other to get in touch more often. His mother asks with a glint in her eyes when he is finally going to bring his soulmate or a partner home. Jaskier laughs and cleverly changes the subject. 

Pegasus waits for him in front of the gates, a servant holding him by the reins. Jaskier puts on his new blue leather gloves as he walks up to them. He thanks the servant and tips him before turning around. His parents are waving goodbye at him from the porch of the house with smiles on their wrinkled faces, and Jaskier feels his heart swell with love. He is very happy he came here and mended cracked bridges with them, and resolves to make an effort to be back more often. 

_—_

For the winter he goes back to Oxenfurt, taking his old room and teaching a few extra classes here and there. Accompanied by some of his colleagues, he participates in a public concert whose funds will go to support the renovation of the children’s wing in the hospital of Oxenfurt. The event was organized by Shani, who excitedly tells him at the end that they have raised more than two hundred crowns, which they wouldn’t have done if Jaskier (his name and his fame) hadn’t been present. It's good to be appreciated. 

He doesn’t _stay_ in Oxenfurt. He knows exactly what it's like to live and stagnate there, and it doesn’t appeal to him one bit. With Pegasus his loyal mount, Jaskier rides away from the city at the end of February. This time he decides to head South East, towards Lyria and then Toussaint. There is an annual, small scale poetry competition every May in Beauclair, and Jaskier _—_ if he makes it there in time _—_ should like to submit his latest writings to the jury’s consideration under a pseudonym, to see what they’re actually worth. 

_—_

Mid-April. He is staying at an inn in a small village halfway between Spalla and Caed Myrievid. 

There have been sightings of a werewolf in the area, with one reported human death, an old farmer who lived away from the village. As consequence, the atmosphere around here is grim. Jaskier eats his stew in silence, his lute case between his feet. There's a gust of wind as the door of the inn opens and a man comes in. Jaskier glances at the newcomer and almost chokes on a piece of potato. 

Really, the presence of a Witcher here shouldn't come as a surprise. But it's not Geralt _._ It's another large, burly, menacing silhouette in the doorway with his face half hidden in the shadows. The hilts of two swords strapped to his back gleam in the moonlight; in his fist, he holds a rolled up notice which Jaskier can guess is for the werewolf contract. As is usual, the tavern falls silent at the appearance of the mutant. The Witcher's eyes sweep over the room to see if any of the men in here will pose a problem. And when nothing happens, he slowly makes his way over to the bar, and the hubbub of conversation resumes as though a spell has been broken. 

_Talk about a dramatic entrance._ Jaskier's got goosebumps, and his soulmark itches. He watches the Witcher sit on a stool close to his with a grunt. He smoothes the werewolf notice over the counter, then calls for the barkeep. 

"Evenin' witchah," the barkeep says, his expression neither hostile nor welcoming. "Wha' do I get ya?" 

“Evening. Erm - ale, please, and whatever else you got on the menu tonight.” He reaches for the leather coin purse at his belt, opens it - takes out more than enough to pay both for the food, the drink, and the service. 

Jaskier is unable not to stare at him. It's extremely rude, he _knows_ , but he just can't help it. Like Geralt, this Witcher wears an armor, carries two very scary looking long swords as though they weight nothing, is dirty, and his eyes are the color of molten gold. Unlike Geralt, his hair is black and short, his jaw more square. He is a tad smaller and broader in the shoulders than Geralt is, and he is dressed in dark browns and reds instead of all black. A wolf pendant dangles from his neck, a perfect replica of Geralt’s. They must know one another. Jaskier swallows around the lump in his throat. It's probably one the ‘brothers’ Geralt vaguely referred to once or twice. 

The Witcher shifts in his seat, angling his head and body towards Jaskier. He raises his eyebrows provocatively, calling him out on his staring, and Jaskier gasps: the man's face is… a shocking sight. Three long, deep, knotted scars marr its right side. They go from the middle of his chin up to his temple, cutting through the right side of his lips, slashing his cheeks, terrible _—_ claw marks… ? That must have belonged to a terrifying monster (there's a story there and Jaskier _must_ hear it.) The scars tug at his skin, distorting his mouth. They just narrowly missed his eye. It is upsetting to look at, and the Witcher knows it. What he doesn't know is that Jaskier has followed Geralt around for years, and he’ll need much more than that to be scared off or disgusted. 

_One story, that's all._ Seeing that the Witcher's tankard is nearly empty, Jaskier snaps his fingers. “Ed! Another ale for him. My treat.” Ed, the barkeep, looks between Jaskier and the Witcher, shakes his head, and starts filling up a large pitcher with beer. 

"Aye, comin'!" 

And the Witcher huffs and tells him: “I’m here to drink alone." 

_—_

His voice is different. There's a lilt to it that Geralt's never had, Jaskier thinks. It's huskier, and more… More… 

… More…?

_I'm here to drink alone._

His brain finally registers the words. Jaskier goes very, very still. He drops his own jug of ale _—_ which had been raised halfway to his lips _—_ it clatters on the floor at his feet. His ears are ringing. And his _mark._ It's _burning_. _“_ What did you just say?” he whispers. 

It is the Witcher’s turn to look shocked. His yellow eyes widen like saucers. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He looks a bit like a startled deer. Or a fish. Jaskier really shouldn't find that expression charming. 

“What did you say?” Jaskier repeats, dangerous scorching bright hope unfurling inside his chest _—_ a bird taking flight. When the Witcher remains frozen, Jaskier furiously unbuttons his doublet and takes it off before rolling his shirt sleeve up to his elbow. “ _I’m here to drink alone!_ That’s what you said, isn’t it?! Look!” 

“...Holy Melitele,” the Witcher replies, sounding half-strangled. Jaskier waits, febrile, ablaze; he hungrily takes in the other man’s appearance as he imitates Jaskier, rolling up the sleeve of his gambeson just enough to bare his inner wrist. Jaskier pushes the man's tankard away impatiently to make room and lays his arm flat on the countertop. The Witcher does the same. 

They both stare at the impossible: there, on the Witcher’s skin, are words inscribed in what Jaskier recognizes as his own handwriting _—_ embellished capital letters, rounded vowels, neat and tidy signs. While on Jaskier’s own arm is what he can only assume is _this man's_ handwriting, a spider-thin, near illegible scrawl. 

_I’m here to drink alone_. 

_What did you just say?_

“Oh. Ye gods.” Jaskier looks up at the Witcher who meets his eyes, disbelief and _—_ fear? Plain on his face. “It’s - it's you… ? It's you?!? It's been _you_ all along…! _Unbelievable!_ What… " It's the first time in his life that Jaskier has ever found himself at a complete loss for words. 

The other man gulps, looking clearly anxious. He scratches at his scar. He holds out a hand. “I’m Eskel,” he tries, giving a tentative smile. His eyes crinkle attractively at the corners. "H - hello." 

_Oh no_ , Jaskier thinks. _Oh no no no no no. He's…! He!..._ He is screaming internally. He can feel himself blushing bright red. _Eskel._ He likes his name... He likes his face, scarred though it may be. _Oh no._

The poor Witcher is visibly tense, seemingly bracing himself for immediate rejection. Jaskier's jumble of thoughts is barely coherent enough to align two words together but he really can't let his actual _soulmate_ think he doesn't _want_ him. Hells no. No one should have to go through what he did. 

“I. Me. Julian,” he stutters, then groans and hides his face in his hands. Why must his lyricism decide to quit when he's having the most important encounter of his life?! His soulmark throbs gently as if to comfort him. "Shit. Sorry. Fuck, I'm - a bit lost right now." He laughs awkwardly. Is this real? Or is he dreaming? Does he really… get a second chance?

... Did Geralt of fucking Rivia just happen to say the exact _same_ string of words as his true soulmate, back when they first met in Posada twenty years ago?! By the gods! He's MAD! He's lost so much time!… 

Jaskier sniffles, regaining his composure. Eskel is watching him with a patient smile; when Jaskier looks up, he hands him a (surprisingly clean) red handkerchief. Red must be his favorite color. Jaskier tucks that important information away as he wipes his eyes and blows his nose. Talk about making a smooth first impression. He's a mess. 

“Most people know me as Jaskier, the bard.” He reaches for Eskel’s hand and shakes it. The second they touch, warmth travels up his arm and diffuses in waves through his whole body from that single point of contact. Jaskier shivers at the sensation. “Whoah there. Hello.” 

Eskel looks similarly awestruck. Fascinated. Jaskier hasn't run for the hills when finding out his soulmate was a Witcher yet, and an ugly one at that; he leans closer, his smile widening, looking at the bard with undisguised curiosity and indefinable emotion. “I've heard of you, Jaskier. What brings you to this part of the Continent?” he says, and Jaskier also loves how his soulmate says his name now. _This man is my soulmate._ There's a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. Another Witcher... Has he _really_ been traipsing after the _wrong_ man all this time?! Did he _really_ bark up the _wrong_ fucking tree for _years?!_

"Poetry competition. You're here for the werewolf." 

(Jaskier needs to write this down. It's hilarious. His life is a _joke_. This has the makings of his greatest love ballad yet.) 

“Yes. Didn't expect to find…" Eskel clears his throat. "My… soulmate instead. I mean this is…" 

“Unexpected?” Jaskier offers. His cheeks hurt from smiling. When did that happen? He feels so stupid _—_ now that he has a point of comparison he realizes this is nothing like what meeting Geralt had been. Geralt made him feel hopeful, yet. Excited. But right now he is positively _elated_ and yet also… calm, like he's finally right where he belongs. With… Eskel. How could this happen? “Incredible? Terrific? Scary but in a very good way?” 

“All of that, yeah,” Eskel agrees, amused. “And more. You’re my soulmate, Jaskier... I’ll be damned. Geralt is gonna have a fit when he knows. Been teasing me about my mark for years." Jaskier snorts. Now there's a thought. “You _are_ the bard he talked about a few times, right? Your name is familiar, but tell me if I'm mistaken.” 

“No, you're right. I did travel with Geralt for a long time." Pined after him so hard he grew leaves and roots, more like. "Ever heard of _Toss a Coin to your Witcher?_ That's one of mine.” 

“Really?” Eskel says, surprised. Jaskier is taken aback by how open and expressive the man's face is _—_ miles away from Geralt's usually constipated expressions. “On behalf of my brothers I have to thank you. Certainly made my and their lives easier, that song. We owe you.” 

“It was nothing,” Jaskier says dismissively, waving the man’s praise away. He does _not_ blush like a maiden when a handsome man compliments him, nuh uh. 

“It weren't nothing, I mean it. You did us a great favor. People started to be less… scared of us and we found more honest, well-paid work in the last few years. Enough that we took notice and talked about it when we reconvened each winter at Kaer Morhen. I'm surprised Geralt didn't tell you about this." Eskel scratches his chin. "But then he doesn't say much." 

Jaskier laughs. It's too high-pitched and ugly, but he doesn't care. "That's an understatement if I've ever heard one." 

“Did he tell you we trained together?" 

“No. To be honest Geralt didn’t share much of his life with me despite how long we were traveled together,” he says, careful to keep his voice steady. Eskel frowns. “He was a very private man. And I'd rather not talk about him, Eskel, if you don't mind - the last time I saw Geralt we… didn’t exactly part on good terms." Understatement again. Jaskier winces but barrels on. He won't let his late feelings for Geralt get in the way of his new relationship with his soulmate. "I'd much rather talk about you and… get to know you _._ I can’t believe I finally _found_ you after all these years. I had completely given up hope.” Because he thought someone else _—_ _Geralt_ _—_ was his destiny, but that's a conversation for… another time. 

Eskel’s gaze softens in understanding. “Yeah I get it. Me, too.” 

Jaskier looks around at the bar, hears the barks of laughter, the hubbug of conversation, and the screams of victory when someone plays a good card at Gwent. On their left the barkeep is pretending to clean a glass but he is obviously trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. “Do you maybe want to go somewhere more private?” Eskel nods. 

To a Witcher’s sensitive hearing, Jaskier’s room at the inn wouldn’t be much quieter than the bar, and he doesn't want anything to bother them. He wants to spend time alone with _his_ Witcher. Jaskier grins. He never thought he'd get to say those words one day. He feels quite possessive and protective of Eskel all of a sudden, and knows it's the bond building itself. They end up taking a midnight stroll through the streets of the village. Under normal circumstances Jaskier would be skittish (for who knows what lurks in the shadows at night) but Eskel is with him. 

Eskel is with him. 

Holy… fuck. 

He’s actually found his soulmate, after all these years. And it's not Geralt. _It's never been Geralt._ Jaskier wants to cry. He wants to sing. He wants to run. He wants to scream. What the fuck is he supposed to do now with all these conflicting feelings? 

“Could give them to me,” Eskel rumbles as though he knew what Jaskier was talking about. The man was making an effort to follow, Jaskier will give him that. He hadn't even realized he'd spoken out loud. Must be the ale coursing through his bloodstream. “I can try and… take care of them. Try and… Care for you," he blurts out and stops walking. "If you want me to - I mean. Fuck, sorry. I'm _—_ … ah. Overwhelmed too? Been waiting a long long time for this. I never dared hope." His eyes are like glowing embers. Jaskier wants to drown himself in them. 

"It's okay," he murmurs, trying not to let Eskel see how his honest words made him want to cry. Again. _Care for you_. Gods he was sweet. It was almost too good to be true. “I do want you to, are you kidding me. We'll figure this shit out _—_ together." He wants to touch Eskel, take his hand, but he's not sure he can without falling to pieces. He settles for awkwardly patting his shoulder and saying teasingly, "You’re a bit of a poet yourself, eh?” 

Eskel smiles and they resume walking. “I do enjoy reading and writing,” he tells him, and that’s something Geralt rarely expressed interest in. Jaskier looks down, his smile eating his face. His heart is doing somersaults inside his chest. Eskel must hear it. He wonders what Eskel's own heart sounds like. 

On the outskirts of the village, they find a big roll of hay overlooking a wheat field and Jaskier suggests they sit on top of it. Eskel helps him up and then joins him. 

And they talk. 

They talk and, progressively Jaskier starts to understand why Eskel is his match and why Geralt never really fit right. And perhaps Geralt understood that fact much sooner than he himself did, but Jaskier clung onto him because it was the only thing he knew how to do at that point. It doesn’t matter. Or it does, but right now Eskel is here and Jaskier will be damned if he doesn't do right by this man. 

He knows it’ll take time for the both of them to get to know one another, and to understand what it means to love and to be loved. He doesn’t know anything yet about Eskel’s history _—_ surely if he’s as old as Geralt he must have gotten his heart broken once or twice or more. It'll be difficult to push through those walls. And Jaskier has his own issues to unpack as well. But one thing is certain: they both want this. Desperately, earnestly, passionately. And if they both genuinely want it, then they _can_ make it work. 

-

They talk. 

Eskel is interested in everything Jaskier has to say _—_ in everything Jaskier _is_. Eskel speaks in actual lengthy sentences in this deep, metallic-sounding voice which Jaskier is slowly (but surely) falling for. The conversation is lively, riveting, it flows back and forth smoothly. Jaskier rambles because he’s Jaskier but Eskel makes room for himself, interjecting remarks, questions, jibes, and a whole variety of noises to show that he’s listening attentively. He is calm. Patient, thoughtful and polite. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. The cherry on the cake. The… filling inside the pie. Jaskier's running out of metaphors but the point is: he knows this man will have the power to make him climb mountains to proclaim his love at the top of his lungs.

(He has the fleeting thought that if Geralt felt anything remotely like this for Yennefer, it's no wonder he told Jaskier he could never love him.)

He hasn’t had such an interesting exchange since his days at Oxenfurt, when he was still wet behind the ears and he and other students made it a point to passionately debate for hours on a variety of random subjects. Even though Geralt _had_ been more talkative when they traveled again on the Path last year, he still had poor social skills and mostly talked about himself or about Ciri. Jaskier doesn’t hold it against him: he knows how Geralt is, perhaps better than the man knows himself. But talking with Eskel feels refreshing and _nice_. They're well matched intellectually. What Eskel knows about the world he has seen himself or read about, and in a hundred years of life, lord knows he did read a lot. He is a treasure trove of knowledge. 

They talk and Eskel asks him about his music, his creative process, how did he learn to play an instrument? Does he play anything besides the lute? What about his family? Eskel laughs when Jaskier tells him a story from his childhood when he pranked the childminder who took care of him by putting frogs in her bed. In return he tells him about how he and a friend once tied a huge bumblebee to a jug and laughed till they cried as it helplessly tried to fly about _—_ until Vesemir, their mentor, caught them and gave them a lashing. 

Eskel is a right flirt (they're well matched in that way too.) He seems to have no delusions about his disfiguring scar, but it doesn't stop him from standing straight and proud with confidence etched in the set of his shoulders. He is a man who knows himself and who seems comfortable in his own skin. 

Eskel asks him about his favorite color (yellow) his favorite place to be (the coast) his favorite book (the _1001 love poems_ compilation that he has read and re-read so many times for inspiration the pages are torn up and stained with remains of food, drink and ink blots). It is the first time _—_ and it is sad to realize it _—_ that Jaskier feels like he actually... matters to someone. 

It is a two-way street: he asks Eskel about his own family, and the man quietly tells him what he can about Kaer Morhen. He talks about his brothers _—_ Lambert, Cohen, their mentor Vesemir, and _Geralt,_ of course, Jaskier can't avoid his ghost forever. Ciri was the latest addition to their weird family, and Eskel watched her grow up. The princess is a young woman now, nearly thirty years of age, and she is a Witcher _—_ the first woman to ever earn that status _—_ as well as a mage. But to Eskel’s eyes, she’ll always be the little girl they helped raise. She calls him ‘Uncle Eskel’, and unbidden Jaskier thinks of Diana, his brother's daughter. He can understand well enough Eskel's love for Ciri and his unspoken desire for a family. She was the child that he’ll never have and such an important part of his life. Jaskier knows she means the _world_ to Geralt. It seems little Ciri has wormed her way into the cold unfeeling hearts of every Wolf School Witcher around. 

The conversation drifts to politics and the state of the Southern Empire. Jaskier starts yawning _—_ he has no idea what time it is. They’ve been talking for at least a couple hours. He lays his head on Eskel’s shoulder, who trails off in the middle of his sentence. It’s not… very comfortable. The armor is hard leather and Eskel is all solid muscle. Jaskier tells him so, wriggling to try to get more comfortable. There's hay poking him in the buttocks. 

Eskel laughs, and tells Jaskier he can use his thigh as a pillow instead. Jaskier waggles his eyebrows but he does as suggested, and it’s indeed more comfortable. This way he can look at the stars, thousands of them sparkling above their heads. Should he make a wish? His thoughts scatter when Eskel hesitantly touches him, threading his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “Is this alright?” he asks, and Jaskier nods fervently. 

"Yeah." 

Jaskier muses: Eskel is… a natural protector (fuck it feels good to have his hair played with, and he is so _gentle_ .) He is… a gentle giant who must be as scared as Jaskier to fuck this one good thing up, who has longed and yearned for this exact thing so badly that _—_ now that it's happening _—_ he doesn't know what to do with himself. _One day at a time, my dear._

He makes a pleased noise of appreciation when Eskel scratches near the nape of his neck, the tension leaving his body. Eskel chuckles and keeps stroking his hair. His soulmate is strong, smart, sensible and ruggedly handsome... Jaskier is already halfway in love with him. _Geralt who? Never heard of her._

Eskel clears his throat, and he starts to hum a lullaby, and Jaskier… Oh gods. Fine. _Fine_ , Destiny, yes! He gets it! That's his soulmate, alright! Jaskier can't cope. Eskel can _sing?_ More than that, he is singing _for_ him? Yes. Jaskier is screwed. Happily screwed. The lullaby is a familiar tune; on the second verse he joins Eskel in his hushed singing, and when the song comes to an end Jaskier opens his eyes to meet gold. 

"Eskel?" he says. 

"Yes?" 

“Thanks for not running away."

“Well I'm the one who should be saying that." Eskel laughs quietly. "Anyone else would have fled before me, I think. But not you. You saw me, understood what we were, but you… didn't run." 

"And I never will." 

"Ah! Good. Neither will I." 

Jaskier smirks. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now." 

"Oh, woe is me," Eskel says dryly. "What a terrible hardship. Whatever shall I do?" 

Jaskier swats at his arm, grinning like a madman. He pretends to think about it. "Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"I might have a few ideas." 

"Do tell… "

"You could kiss me. For a start." 

Eskel's eyes darken. "Can I really?" he murmurs, stroking Jaskier's cheek with a finger. The touch is electrifying. Jaskier sits upright on the hay abruptly. 

"Yes," he says, wrapping his arms around Eskel's neck. _"Yes, please."_

Eskel chuckles and does just that. Jaskier can feel him smile into the kiss, and knows he is doing the same. And love, he finds, has never felt so peaceful, so right, so good. 

_—_

_THE END._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD ITS SAPPY 
> 
> \---
> 
> THANK YOU for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Extra cookies if you spotted the (rather obvious) meme reference which insinuated itself in it! XD The next one will be the epilogue, and it should hopefully be up next week <3 
> 
> I wanna say thank you for the flood of love I received on the last chapter because holy shit, do you guys realize how happy you've made me?! I was high on a little cloud of joy, like, all week!!!! 😭 I smiled and laughed so hard when reading your comments! 
> 
> anyway thanks again for reading and i'll see you next time ! <3


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destiny, it seemed, had a funny, unpredictable, roundabout way of making things turn out for the better when one least expects it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's a wrap guys !! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> My deepest thanks for the love and support you've shown this story, dear readers. I love this AU, it was an absolute pleasure to write and to share it with you!!!! THANK YOU ! YOU ROCK !!! 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this little epilogue, and the conclusion it brings to this story! ❤️

It's summer: the sky is a clear blue, the fields on either side of the dusty road are full of wildflowers, and cicadas are singing. The air shimmers with heat. They are ambling on horseback in comfortable silence. Jaskier is fanning himself with a sheet torn off of one of his notebooks as he listens to the sounds of nature; Eskel wipes his brow with a hand, then twists around on his saddle to reach for the waterskin inside one of his bags. 

The Witcher’s last contract involving a Katakan had been a particularly difficult hunt, both physically and emotionally; and thus, after Eskel was done and had collected his coin, Jaskier suggested that they head North West to the coast instead of taking the Path again right away. He’d been expecting to have to drag the reluctant man by the nape of his neck, and to at length that a vacation benefited both the body and the soul for him to come, but he hadn't needed to. Eskel had relaxed now that he’d managed to earn quite a bit of coin, and he was more than happy to follow Jaskier to discover his favorite town: a quiet place named Sanoy with seaside cottages for rent, beautiful beaches, and delicious local specialities. 

"Water?" Eskel offers, holding his sheepskin out to Jaskier, who nods emphatically and takes it with a smile of gratitude. He drinks large gulps messily, spilling water on his shirt front and Eskel teases him for it. Jaskier considers pouring the rest of the water down on his head to refresh himself but resists the growing temptation; he knows they must save it until they reach their destination. Besides, once they are knee deep in the sea, he fully intends to start a proper water fight. Eskel won’t know what hits him. 

“Thanks, angel.” He gives Eskel back his flask with a wink. Eskel’s cheeks redden as they always do when Jaskier calls him that. “Race you!” He announces with a mischievous grin, kicking his horse to break into a gallop. “The first one to see the sea wins a full body massage!” 

“What - Jaskier!” He hears a laugh behind him, and Scorpion neighs. He knows Eskel will catch up to him quickly, is damn well counting on it so he can reward his husband with a kiss. His hands grip the reins tightly and a familiar glint catches his eye: a golden ring around his finger of the same sunfire color as his soulmate’s eyes. Happiness bubbles up in his chest, almost _painful_ in its intensity. He'll never tire of gazing at this jewel - a promise of eternal love, the symbol of the bond that unites Eskel and him, in happiness and in grief. 

Eskel goes past him in a cloud of dust and stops his horse sideways ahead of Jaskier, blocking the road. Pegasus slows down automatically and Jaskier pets the animal's neck to soothe him as he trots up to the other man's level. “I win,” Eskel says proudly. “May I get a kiss?” 

The Witcher usually keeps his own matching wedding ring on a chain around his neck, tucked beneath various layers of armor and clothes for safety - so afraid is he to lose or break it in a fight. But today, it is exceptionally visible: bless the sunshine for forcing Eskel to get rid of a few layers of clothing! He's kept his shoulder and knee pads on, but only wears a thin undershirt that clings to the sweaty skin of his muscular torso, tucked beneath the high waistband of his blue leather pants. His wolf medallion and his wedding ring bounce and twinkle when he moves. He is a feast for the eyes like this. Jaskier wants to dedicate a thousand poem collections to Eskel - _has_ actually already started compiling a few that he's thinking of gifting him for his birthday, to keep him warm in the winter, unless the Witcher invites Jaskier to Kaer Morhen. It's an idea Eskel shyly voiced once, before they were rudely interrupted. They haven’t found the right time to discuss this again, but if Eskel were to ask, Jaskier would say yes - of course. He'd be happy to see the rest of the Witcher family, including Geralt. 

Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, Jaskier focuses on Eskel, who’s waiting for a response. He… is so handsome like this (Jaskier can't help but sigh dreamily) sitting up straight on his horse like the dashing prince from fairytales. He leans forward to give him a kiss; Eskel smiles against his lips. 

It's been three years since Caigorn, three years since he and Geralt had a fallout, and two years since Jaskier accidentally found his real soulmate inside a shitty bar. 

A year and nine months since Jaskier decided there was no more time to waste, and got down on one knee in the middle of the forest to ask for Eskel’s hand. Eskel had dropped everything he was holding (his scabbards with his two precious swords clattering to the ground) and simply burst into tears. They had a very small, intimate ceremony with a druid they hired for the occasion and a drunk twenty-something couple who’d stumbled into the moonlit clearing where the wedding was taking place as legal witnesses. 

For Jaskier, to this day, the words 'I now pronounce you bound by the sacred bonds of marriage' and Eskel's stunned but beatific expression is his most cherished memory.

-

It was… difficult to accept what had happened at first. He'd thought Geralt was his soulmate for _twenty years,_ but he had been wrong all down the line. How miserable Geralt made him feel wasn’t only due to the man himself, but to his own attitude as well. Jaskier needed to accept this radical change in his perception of the world to learn to love Eskel. 

After they met he and Eskel walked the Path together. Jaskier had a new Muse: he wrote a dozen new ballads about his Witcher's exploits, the most popular one telling the story of his bravery and determination as he chased after a basilisk who’d eaten a little girl whole. Eskel had managed to enter its lair, where after a fierce fight he split the creature down the stomach and got the child out _alive._

-

Jaskier also learned the hard way that Eskel had his own ugly demons to fight. 

On bad days, the Witcher believes Jaskier is mocking him, that this is all a _trick_ , that _no one_ could ever love _him._ Despite how much Jaskier wants to be near him, comfort him, reassure him in those unstable moments, Eskel needs his space. Jaskier has a new tiny scar on the bridge of his nose from that one night when Eskel lashed out during such an episode and slapped him hard with too-long nails. 

He didn’t run away (he never would.) But Eskel did. Jaskier had waited in silence in the inn’s room, sitting on the bed for his soulmate to return. Eskel had come back way past midnight, eyes red and puffy, trembling and looking utterly wrecked, eating alive by guilt, fear and self disgust. He’d fallen to his knees when he saw that Jaskier was still there _._ He had crawled to him and begged for his forgiveness. Their lovemaking was slow that night, both men taking the time to be gentle with the other, trading soft caresses and deep kisses and building tension slowly until passion took over. 

Jaskier adores Eskel, and Eskel loves him back. He has worshipped every inch of Jaskier’s skin with his hands, his lips and his tongue; he has told him about _all_ his scars (Jaskier can't help but think Children of Surprise seem to be a recurring theme among Witchers); Eskel has given him gifts, pretty things that Jaskier loves so much, jewelry and books and a new ornamented dagger for defense, custom-made free of charge by a blacksmith who owed Eskel a favor; Eskel has learned that it was _okay_ to care so much for Jaskier and that Jaskier wasn’t lying when he said he wanted him. They’re both continuously trying their best never to lose one another. 

And at one point Jaskier admitted he too had to lance the boil and confided his wreckage of a soulmate story to Eskel. 

They were lying in bed cuddling (turned out Eskel was a prime snuggler) and although they’d bade each other goodnight an hour ago, Jaskier couldn’t sleep. And he knew Eskel wasn’t asleep either if how tight the man was holding him was any indication. 

“Eskel?” 

“...Hmm...” Eskel nuzzled Jaskier’s neck and inhaled deeply. “... love your smell so much. You can't sleep?” 

“No. Thinking too much.” Jaskier rolled over to face Eskel. “Hi.” 

Eskel smiled fondly. “Hi, love.” 

“I _love_ when you call me that,” Jaskier murmured. 

“I know. Your heart always beats faster.” 

“Ugh.” Jaskier hit Eskel’s chest playfully. “ _Witchers_ and their enhanced senses. You know everything _._ What’s the point in me even talking?” 

“But I love hearing you talk,” Eskel said. Jaskier kissed him - he had to. 

Then he said, “I thought Geralt was my soulmate for the longest time,” and Eskel furrowed his brows and pushed him away. 

“What?”

Jaskier told him. Once he began talking, the words came pouring out like a dam had been broken and he ended up in tears, his face hidden in Eskel’s chest with the man’s solid arms wrapped around him for comfort. He confessed _everything_ that he’d ever felt (and repressed) for Geralt. He told Eskel about Caigorn, about the last words Geralt had said to him on the mountain, about how unanchored he’d been afterwards. Eskel cursed quietly. 

“That arsehole," he growled softly. "I’m sorry love, you really didn’t deserve any of that. You may have been there when it happened but Geralt sure as hell is responsible for his own decisions. He owes you an apology.” Jaskier doesn’t reply, only makes a wet noise of assent. Eskel kisses the top of his head, waiting for Jaskier to calm down enough to talk. “You know,” he adds after a moment of silence. “He’s done the same to me once, sort of. Pushed me away completely when we used to be as close as brothers.”

“...Why?” 

Eskel sighs. “Who knows what goes on inside that head of his, but I have my theory. He’d just gone through a second round of Trials to become a Witcher - Trial of the Grasses, remember I told you about those?” Jaskier nodded. “And he was the only one who did. The Masters wanted to experiment with additional mutations and Geralt’s the first and the last man who ever went through them. That’s why his hair’s white and not mine. 

"When I first met him we were just kids… My family was hillfolk who had too many mouths to feed so they gave me away - to them Kaer Morhen would provide me with shelter, food, and an education, although it turned me into a monster…Geralt was the first boy I saw when I entered the keep and he was really passionate. All of us were afraid but he was yielding a stick like a sword, saying he was going to become a hero and save princesses from bad monsters.” Jaskier laughed at the image, and Eskel smiled too. “But the trainings and the Trials… they completely burned that dreamer out of him. We survived the first Trials together, and I’ve no idea what they did to him in the Second but when he came back he was different. We were friends, but I think that second trial hurt and traumatized him so _much_ he felt like he... had no choice but to keep me _-_ and the rest of the world at large - at bay while he nursed his wounds. Even if we could have helped him go through that, everyone in the keep at Kaer Morhen was somehow _responsible_ for his pain, had either inflicted it or reminded him of it.” He paused. “I don’t know much but I reckon perhaps a similar defensive reaction happened with you and Yennefer.” 

“So…” Jaskier said, idly drawing patterns with a finger on Eskel’s chest. “...What? Even if I could have helped him recover from heartbreak as his _friend_ , he still felt I was a… danger somehow?” 

“I don't know. Possibly. If you come with me to Kaer Morhen next winter, and I know we only briefly mentioned this in passing but I really want you to - then Geralt will be there. And I’m sure he’ll have had time to… reflect on his side. And he'll apologize, love. That’s kinda what he does,” Eskel murmured. “Keep everything bottled up then lash out, hurt people, and then say he’s sorry. But it's up to you whether to forgive him for this one or not. Despite his faults he is a good man, and a good friend."

"I know…" 

"If he _doesn’t_ apologize, however,” Eskel’s arms tightened around Jaskier protectively, “I can’t promise that I won’t punch him in the face. You’re my soulmate, Jaskier, and no one hurts my soulmate. Not on my watch." He growled again playfully, and Jaskier chuckled, feeling much better. 

“I’d pay to see that.” 

“I've been told my right hooks are terrific.” 

“Oh dear. My handsome knight has come to protect me!” 

“Does that make you the damsel in distress?” 

“No no no, it makes me… the second knight who falls in love with the first who came to deliver the princess."

“Now that’s a story you should write. I'm sure it'd sell." 

"Of course it would, I'm a fantastic writer, darling." Jaskier tilted his head to look up at Eskel. “I love you so much.” 

“... Damn." Eskel shook his head. "I think I’ll never get used to hearing you say that…” Jaskier took Eskel’s hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb for no reason other than he just loved touching the other man. He _always_ wanted to hug Eskel and kiss him and be close to him when he saw him. “I love you too.” 

Jaskier propped himself up on an elbow and kissed him properly. 

\--

Come winter he would find himself in Kaer Morhen, accompanied by Eskel, his true soulmate, his _husband._ There, he would meet the rest of the family who Eskel had talked about many times: Vesemir, their old mentor and the closest thing any of them had to a father figure; Lambert, apparently an asshole with a heart of gold; Coën, the strong and silent type and the youngest of their wolf pack. He would see Princess Cirilla again if he was lucky, something he was really looking forward to. After all Jaskier had known her as a child and a little princess, and he couldn’t wait to see how much she had grown up and changed. And of course, he’d see Geralt again. Yennefer too, perhaps, but... Geralt _._

He really had no idea how that reunion would go. How would Geralt react to the fact that _Eskel_ of all people was his soulmate? The two wolves were best friends. They'd grown up together, knew each other when Jaskier was still a babe. It would surely be a hard pill to swallow for Geralt, but Jaskier hoped that once the surprise had worn off it'd be alright. 

Apologies were in order. Both he and Geralt would need to find some time to talk privately, in all honesty, and explain some things to one another and... apologize for misunderstandings and whatnot. Jaskier did want to make a last effort to mend bridges and rebuild a friendship with Geralt, like the Witcher had done when he’d gone through the trouble of travelling all the way to Oxenfurt to personally seek him out. That had meant something. So he hoped Geralt felt the same way now. Jaskier missed the easy companionship they’d shared in that period between Oxenfurt and Caigorn, it had been a lot of fun. He missed _Geralt_ \- how could he not, when the man had been such a significant part of his life for so long? He'd thought about him often. He wanted Geralt to be alive, well and happy. Had he and Yennefer managed to heal their relationship or were they both too stubborn to do so? Jaskier really hoped it was the former. She was Geralt's soulmate after all, and the pain of losing one’s soulmate was something Jaskier _never_ wanted to have to go through. He’d had enough heartbreak to last him a lifetime. 

Jaskier was happy. He'd found the balance he was looking for. He had found his true destiny and he loved Eskel deeply. Going against the approval of his family, he had become what he wanted to the most: a bard, a writer, a published poet, a man whose works were known and sung in every part of the continent, a man who’d be leaving a _legacy_ behind. 

Geralt had been his first love. Jaskier thought he’d be the last. But Destiny, it seemed, had a funny, unpredictable, roundabout way of making things turn out for the better when one least expects it. Such is life. 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions about the writing process or the story itself, feel free to ask them in the comments. I hope you enjoyed this AU to the end! I do have ideas to turn this into a mini-series, so if you're interested in reading more about Jaskier and Eskel you can subscribe to my profile in order not to miss them. Thank you again and I hope y'all have a nice week !!!! Merci !!!!!! <3 
> 
> edit: so like many i watched the series before anything else, and am slowly reading the books but i just watched some videos on Eskel from the game and I somehow love him even more now. he fights well !!!! also he has a pet goat !! XDD and the snarky dialogue and his friendship with Geralt is really funny! XD


End file.
